Blood in the Tea Leaves by Beka Westrup

Author:Beka Westrup [Westrup, Beka]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rebecca Shelman

COLETTE

Colette was two bottles deep in self-loathing when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

She looked up from where she sat on the windowsill and found herself towered over by a lean, black suit. The woman in it was smiling at her. It was a shy sort of grin, the sort that made her mauve lips thin and stretch until a sliver of white teeth gleamed through the dark. Her skin was the loveliest shade of reddish-brown, like that of a fine, wet clay.

The woman’s suit was silken, obviously expensive and perfectly tailored. It took every speck of Colette’s remaining sense to keep from reaching out to touch the fabric. Her braided black hair blended seamlessly where it fell over each shoulder.

Colette set the wine bottle down and twisted to face the stranger more fully, letting her bare feet hover just above the marble floor.

It was rare for Colette to come across a feminine who wore pants, or the reverse. But every once in a while, they would come through the ballroom, as curious about this manor as the rest of the city. All were welcome.

“You weep blood,” the woman said.

Colette’s hands flew to her cheeks, feeling the dried streaks there. It was an odd, almost rude thing for the stranger to point out, without so much as an introduction to precede it. Colette might have indeed been offended, if it wasn’t for the woman’s expression.

The stranger stared at her with alarming curiosity, her luminous brown eyes flicking up and down Colette’s body. When Colette didn’t immediately respond, she leaned in… as if she couldn’t quite help herself. One of her petite shoulders braced the wall beside the windowsill, and her fingers rubbed together in front of her stomach. There were stains on her fingertips. Black dust. Charcoal.

She was an artist. And a successful one, judging from look of her.

Colette rubbed at her flaky cheeks. “Are you mentioning it because you’re concerned, or do you simply wish to die?”

“Your tears are a difficult thing to capture without red pigment.”

It wasn’t an answer, but Colette didn’t get the chance to demand one. The woman immediately plucked a kerchief from the breast pocket of her suit and wetted it with her tongue. Then she stepped closer and lowered the material to Colette’s face.

Colette’s head swirled with too much wine to react as the kerchief moved against her cheek, erasing her tears.

The full weight of the gesture registered and Colette thought about pulling away, but the kerchief had already moved on to her other cheek. The woman smiled again. Her brown skin creased delicately at the corners of her eyes and Colette was suddenly tempted to touch her there too.

Then Colette remembered that she’d said something about paint.

“You’ve attempted to paint me?” she asked.

The stranger took a small step back and folded the kerchief between her fingers before tucking it away. Her lips tightened. “No, not paint. Just sketches, with the supplies I can easily carry in and out of here.”

She hesitated a moment, then she pulled a leather-bound booklet out of her coat that was about the size of her palm.

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